The street was deserted, lit only by the streetlights casting yellowish light over the wet asphalt. Vick moved slowly, each step measured, every sound around him registered with almost superhuman attention. His hands gripped the weapon naturally, and his gaze scanned the area as if he could see every shadow, every movement before it even happened. There was no rush — only precision and patience, traits that made him a ghost to anyone who dared cross his path.

He hid behind a column, watching the target appear on the other side of the street. His heart didn’t race, but his body was ready to react in an instant. Every muscle was tense, yet controlled; no gesture out of place, no emotion showing. Everything was protocol, everything was calculation. A slight whistle of the wind made Vick turn his head, but his gaze immediately returned to the target — nothing could distract him, nothing could fail.

With an almost imperceptible movement, he adjusted the position of his weapon, took a deep breath, and prepared to fire. Time seemed to slow around him, and for a moment, only he and the objective existed. No haste, no mistakes — only the mission. The silence of the night and the coldness of his actions made it clear that, for Vick, the world could wait; every breath, every step, and every decision were entirely dedicated to him and what he needed to accomplish.